


The Perfect Teyrna

by Penthesilea1623



Series: Battle Maiden [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Origins
Genre: Angst, Child Death, F/M, Infidelity, May/December Romance, Miscarriage, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Troubled Marriage, slightly AU, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eleanor Cousland was young she was a battle maiden, fighting in the Rebellion. More than a decade has passed since then. A series of miscarriages, and the death of her young son have left a rift between her and her husband Bryce, who seems to have forgotten that she was ever anything but the perfect Teyrna, the perfect wife and mother. </p><p>King Maric comes to visit and brings along his brother-in-law, the newly appointed Bann of Rainesfere who seems to see the woman that she thought had vanished years before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this story talks about miscarriages and the death of a young child. 
> 
> This is a prologue to an Origins story that I'm in the planning stages of. It takes place in the same Dragon Age universe as my All That Might Be series. Scarlatina is another name for scarlet fever.

She doesn’t go to the funeral. Bryce tells her she’s too distraught and it would only upset her more. So she sits in a robe by the fire, in a stained night dress, her hair uncombed, knowing the service is going on, knowing the Chant is being sung, knowing the funeral pyre is being lit, and that Aedan’s small body is being turned to ash and she wonders that Bryce could have thought it would be more painful to watch than to imagine.

Aedan is gone.

But for Fergus all her children are gone.

Most of them before one could properly even call them children. Miscarriages. The same word used if it’s only a month or two into the pregnancy and it ends with what you could almost pretend was just a particularly brutal monthly flow, or seven months in when the healer examines you and finds the heartbeat gone and gives you a foul tasting concoction to drink and the labor is as long and as bad as any that produces a living child but there’s only a pale cold doll at the end.

It had been a girl that time. Elissa, they'd called her.

And then, when Fergus was six and she’d all but given up hope, Aedan had arrived. Plump and healthy, golden haired with big blue eyes that quickly changed to match her own green. Laughing and good natured and easy, so easy. 

Everyone had loved him.

It was just before his third birthday that she heard from one of the servants that there’s a sickness in the Highever alienage that’s spreading quickly through the children there. She sends Esmond, their healer, and he comes back with the news. Scarlatina. A particularly virulent strain. 

As a good teyrna should, she sends food and medical supplies, and Esmond makes more trips back and forth. The epidemic is brought under control.

She doesn’t make the connection when Aedan complains of a sore throat that night as she tucks him in.

By the next morning he has a fever and the red rash has appeared on his chest.

It progresses rapidly after that and before the week is out he’s gone.

She hears Bryce comes into the room but doesn’t look away from the fire.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and says exactly the wrong thing. _We can have another child_.

She jerks away from his touch wondering when the change had happened. When the dashing, charming, almost recklessly brave man she’d fought beside during the rebellion, the man who had snuck into her tent and made passionate love to her, just yards from where her brother and father slept, whose eyes had shone with pride when he spoke of her skill with a bow, who’d thought of her as his equal in every way; when had he changed into this proper middle aged teyrn, who saw her only as teyrna and wife and mother, (though Maker knew she’d done a shoddy job as that). When had he become this stranger who didn’t realize that every child she lost took a part of her with them? 

_No_ , she says, ignoring the hurt in his eyes. _No more children_. 

 

Life goes on, of course. She apologizes to Bryce the next day and he accepts it, but there’s a distance between them now. Nan tells her stories of couples having troubles after losing a child.

Which one, she wonders. Which lost child put this distance between them? Or had it been all of them, piece by piece, bit by bit?

They don’t argue, or disagree even. He’s the teyrn, and a good one, the best in all Fereldan, she’d be the first to argue. 

She’s the teyrna, the perfect helpmate. 

They’re the perfect couple, and Highever is the perfect teyrnir, the richest in the land, and the most influential. 

Time passes. They no longer share a chamber, and only rarely do they sleep together – she doesn’t think of it as making love anymore. Bryce seems to suggest it only out of duty, and though she never refuses him, she never initiates it either. The act itself is not unpleasant, but it's utterly predictable and she sometimes finds herself thinking of other things in the midst of it – the pantry shelves that need replacing, or if Fergus will need a new suit of clothes when they travel to Denerim for the Solstice celebrations. Bryce doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care.

She’s not sure which idea bothers her more. 

She’s sitting in the atrium when Bryce appears and announces that King Maric will be coming for a visit and bringing a whole entourage with him.

“So close to the Landsmeet?” She asks. It seems a strange decision. 

“He wants to do some hunting apparently.” Bryce says absently. “He seems to have finally gotten over Rowan’s death anyway. He’s been traveling all over Fereldan.” 

She misses Rowan, and wonders how Cailan is doing and if Maric is finally paying attention to the boy, proper attention. When last she saw him Maric was alternating between benign neglect and showering him with numerous and wholly inappropriate gifts. Rowan would have had a few choice words for him about that. “Is he bringing Cailan?”

“No.” Bryce says. “But Eamon is with him, and Teagan.” 

“Teagan?” She smiles remembering the lanky awkward boy he’d been when he’d returned to Ferelden at the end of the war, suffering from the spots and almost crippling shyness of adolescence. “I don’t think I’ve seen him since the coronation.” He’d been miserable then. Not quite old enough to take part in the festivities, but too old to be left in the nursery. He’d only recently returned from the Free Marches where he and Eamon had been sent to keep them both safe during the rebellion. She’d been six months pregnant with Fergus and had taken pity on him and invited him to sit with her. They’d talked of the war, and she answered his questions about Ferelden and the rebellion and the role she’d played in it. Once he’d gotten over his shyness she’d enjoyed his company.

“Maric’s just made him Bann of Rainesfere.”

“He’s young for a title.” She comments.

“He’s twenty-one.”

That skinny little boy? Maker she was ancient. She’d found another grey hair mixed in among the blond this morning. “How many are we expecting?”

“Twenty-five or so. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

She wonders if he’d hear it if she said yes. “No, of course not.” And truth be told it won’t be. She runs the castle tighter than the troops she used to command. She wonders if Bryce even recalls that she did that. When she has a daughter…

She swallows, remembering that won’t happen, and rises to her feet to begin the preparations. 

 

Maric and his entourage are there by week’s end and she has everything ready and is waiting with Bryce and Fergus in the courtyard when they arrive. Fergus is jumping up and down with excitement and she has to remind him to behave as befits the son of a teyrn. 

She shudders inwardly when she hears the words leave her mouth. 

She greets King Maric, and then Eamon and the other nobles that she knows, making all the proper responses and light jests to put everyone at ease and make them feel welcome.

As Bryce and the King converse she looks around for Fergus, who seems to have vanished and finally spies him being held aloft by a tall knight she doesn’t recognize, petting the nose of one of the great horses Maric and his men have ridden here.

She crosses quickly to them. “Fergus!”” Fergus squirms out of the man’s arms, and she bends to neaten his hair. “I told you to stay beside me.” She puts her hands on her son’s shoulders and turns to the Knight, with the gracious smile she’s perfected over the years. “My apologies, Serah. Fergus loves horses. I dare say he’s more excited at seeing them than seeing the King. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Eleanor Cousland, the Teyrna.” She looks up into a pair of the warmest light blue eyes she’s ever seen.

He smiles down at her and her heart is suddenly racing. Racing in a way it hasn’t for years. There’s something familiar about him, but she can’t place it. And just as she recognizes him he speaks.

“We have met, my lady, when you were kind enough to spend an evening making an awkward boy feel far less awkward. I’m Teagan.”

 

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. She behaves perfectly and everything runs as smoothly as ever. She’s seated with Teagan on one side and Maric on the other, but Maric spends most of the evening conversing with Bryce about the upcoming Landsmeet and so she’s able to talk with Teagan. He’s become quite charming, she realizes as the dinner progresses. It’s an easy carefree charm that sets him apart from most of the nobility. He must have the women at court in a tizzy: brother-in-law to the king, young, handsome and now that he’s been named Bann of Rainesfere, quite wealthy. Even when the meal is done, and they move into the Hall, her eyes are constantly drawn to him, and indeed she finds him looking at her almost as often as she looks at him.

When Bryce comes to her room that night, to thank her for the success of the evening she surprises them both by asking him to stay. For the first time in months she feels a response when he touches her. She’s thinking of Teagan of course. The way his hands looked holding his goblet of wine. How the fabric of his doublet strained across his shoulders. His smile and the admiration in his eyes when he looked at her.

She has to bite her lip to keep from calling out his name when she has an orgasm.

She lies awake afterwards, almost overwhelmed by guilt, listening to Bryce’s snoring. It’s absurd, she tells herself. He’s a child, almost fifteen years her junior, Sweet Andraste he’s closer to Fergus’ age than her own. She’s a middle aged woman. Even if she were fool enough to risk everything, he couldn’t possibly want her. 

After tossing and turning for hours she finally gives up any hope of sleep, when the sky begins to lighten and the birds to sing. She rises and quickly dresses and leaves the room.

At this early hour there’s nothing for her to do, or supervise and she finds herself in the gardens. She looks at the carefully manicured beds, the rosebushes, row after row, the white ones here, the red there. The yellow ones against the wall, and she hates it. She suddenly wants to call the gardeners in so that they can mix them all together, make them look a little more natural, a little less perfectly in place. 

“Surely such a beautiful morning has done nothing to warrant such a frown?” Someone says and she looks up to see Teagan walking towards her, clad only in boots and leather breeches and a simple white shirt.

Her heart immediately begins to race again. “Good Morning, Bann Teagan. You’re up very early. You’re new to the ways of the nobility to rise at this hour.”

He smiles as he comes up beside her. “Rainesfere is a rather grandly titled farm my lady. I’m up with the dawn most days. But surely the nobility rising so early can’t be such an unusual occurrence if the Teyrna of Highever is awake as well.” He leans down and breaks off one of the white roses and hands it to her with an elaborate bow. “Good Morning, Teyrna Eleanor.”

She can’t help laughing as she takes it. “What a charmer you’ve become, Teagan.” 

He smiles at her. “There she is.”

She gives him a perplexed look. “I’m sorry?”

“The beauty with the laughing eyes who made such an impression on me when I was a boy.”

She can feel herself blush, something she hasn’t done in years. “I’m far too old to be considered a beauty.”

“On the contrary. You’re as beautiful now as you ever were, but…” He hesitates.

She can’t keep herself from asking. “But?”

“Your eyes don’t laugh the way they did. They’re still the most beautiful eyes I’ve seen, but they used to be so merry, it showed in every expression. What’s caused that change?”

She stares at him. It’s been so long since anyone noticed, since anyone actually looked at her, at her, Eleanor, not merely the Teyrna, that she’s quite startled. “I suppose it’s age and responsibility. We all have to grow up some time. We all become serious.” 

“But it’s not seriousness. You’re sad, Eleanor. Your eyes are so sad when you think no one sees. When did you become sad?” 

She opens her mouth to deny it but finds that she’s weeping suddenly and can’t stop. 

Teagan looks both alarmed and concerned. “My lady. Eleanor. I’m sorry.” He puts an arm around her and brings her over to a nearby bench. 

“I’m sorry.” She manages to get out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never cry.”

He and pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to her. “Perhaps that’s what it is then. I’ve always found that if you keep everything inside for too long, eventually it finds its own way out.”

“Yes.” She says, dabbing at her eyes. “That must be it.” But she knows it’s not. It’s that someone has looked closely enough to see her, to notice that her heart has been breaking bit by bit for years. 

He’s watching her carefully. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” He says quietly. 

She opens her mouth to thank him and refuse the offer but instead finds herself telling him everything. About Aedan and those lost children. How she’s been swallowed up by playing the role of Teyrna. About Bryce and how he no longer remembers who she was before.

“Perhaps you need to tell him.” Suggests Teagan.

She can’t help a small laugh. “I want him to remember by himself. I suppose I’m not as much of a grown up as I claim to be.” She looks out at the garden. All those roses, color by color, in perfect rows. “Or perhaps that’s what marriage becomes after a time.” 

“That’s a rather frightening thought.” He says and she’s reminded of how young he is. 

What is she doing, sitting here, pouring out her heart to a stranger barely old enough to be considered a man? She pulls herself together. “Thank you Teagan, for listening to my self-indulgent complaining.”

“It was my honor Teyrna.”

Teyrna. She can’t help the flash of irritation that crosses her face. 

He sees it, of course. He seems to see everything and she can’t help wondering what made him like that, if it was something he learned or if he was born that way. “I’ve offended you somehow.”

“No.” she denies. “It’s just…I’d prefer you call me Eleanor.” And she can tell that he understands, that she wants one person who sees her as Eleanor, and not as the Teyrna.

“Of course.” He says with a smile. “Are you feeling well enough to go in to breakfast…Eleanor?” His eyes are twinkling.

“Yes.” She says with a smile, feeling lighter than she has in years.

At breakfast the talk is all about the hunt the next day. Maric turns to her and asks her if she’ll be accompanying them.

“No, Eleanor doesn’t hunt anymore.” Says Bryce, before she can answer. He doesn’t even look at her. Maric accepts the answer and the conversation continues, pausing only briefly when she excuses herself and leaves the room. 

She’s trembling with rage and doesn’t understand why. He’s right, she hasn’t hunted in years. Is it that he spoke for her? Is it because he didn’t even look at her when he did, treating her as just another vassal whose life he controls? She ends up in the atrium, pacing back and forth, unable to calm herself enough to stay still.

“You should tell him how you feel.”

She looks up and it’s Teagan who’s there, Teagan who’s noticed how upset she was, and it’s only then that she realizes she wanted it to be Bryce. She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He moves beside her and she’s forced to tilt her head back to look up at him. He’s a tall man, taller than Bryce, and while she’s not small herself, she feels small next to Teagan.

“He should know.” Teagan says. “He should be reminded of how remarkable you are.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

He smiles that gentle smile he has. “Then you must be looking at a very different woman than the one I see. Come hunting tomorrow.”

She shakes her head. “No, Bryce is right. I haven’t been hunting in years. The Teyrna will behave. Stay home and mind the castle as a good teyrna should.”

“And what of Eleanor? What does she want to do?” Teagan asks. 

She looks up at him and a slow smile spreads across her face.

Bryce is shocked when she comes down to breakfast in her leather armor and announces she will be going on the hunt after all, but to her surprise he seems quite happy about it. 

The hunt is a rousing success. They arrive back at the castle and just as Teagan is helping Eleanor dismount, Nan comes running up.

“Oh my Lady. Thank the Maker you’re back. It’s Master Fergus. He’s ill.” She swallows hard, “It’s scarlatina, my Lady.” 

 

The next few hours are spent getting the King and his people packed and ready to leave. Maric has never had scarlatina and the last thing Fereldan needs is losing Maric and ending up with a child on the throne.

Eleanor hasn’t left Fergus’ side. Esmond has assured them that it’s a mild case and Fergus is in no danger, that Nan, like Eleanor, thought of Aedan and panicked. Eleanor ignores him. 

Fergus who was awake and complaining loudly when she first arrived, is asleep, and though he has the rash that she remembers all too well, his fever is mild, and he seems to be sleeping easily. Maybe Esmond is right.

Bryce comes in and she manages a smile. “He doesn’t seem as ill. Esmond thinks he’ll be all right.” She’s not going to leave his side though, not until she’s certain.

Bryce strokes his son’s head. “Yes, I think he will.” After a moment’s hesitation he continues. “That’s why I’m going to leave with the King tomorrow. There’s no need for both of us to miss the Landsmeet.”

She looks at him as if she’s never seen him before. Asking Nan to watch Fergus, she leaves and goes to her room, knowing Bryce will follow her. The argument is loud and acrimonious. All the resentment she’s felt towards Bryce comes out. He seems completely surprised at some of the things she says and that makes her angrier.

But nothing she says changes his mind. 

“It’s my duty, Eleanor.” He tells her flatly.

“And a Cousland always does their duty.” She says scornfully. “Just go, Bryce. Just leave.” She turns away from him. 

He does as she says and somehow that hurts even more. He stops at the door. “Maric is leaving one of his men here, just in case.”

In case what? She wonders. What could a stranger do? A stranger that she’ll have to feed and take care of when all she wants to do is be with Fergus. But Maric is the king and she can’t say no. “Fine.”

“Teagan’s a good lad. He’ll be of use to you.” He leaves, missing the surprised expression on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some inspiration photos and such relating to Battle Maiden on my tumblr. You can link directly to them here:  
> [Battle Maiden photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/battle+maiden)


	2. In the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Teagan are left alone together at Highever.

She spends the night in Fergus’ room. She ignores Bryce when he comes in to say farewell the next morning, just as she ignores the sounds from the courtyard that let her know Bryce and the King and the rest of them have departed. She’s so angry she’s numb with it.

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later, and she knows who it is before Nan goes to answer it.

She hears Teagan ask Nan if he might come in. Nan turns to her expectantly and Eleanor looks past her to Teagan. He smiles gently and it’s like a balm to her frenzied emotions.

“Come in Teagan.” She says, surprised at how tired she sounds. “Nan, why don’t you get something to eat and then get some sleep.” Nan leaves without a word. Eleanor suspects she’s angry at Bryce as well, though she would never say it out loud.

She turns back to look at Fergus. He had a restless night but he’s sleeping now. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been kept from the Landsmeet. Your first Landsmeet as Bann.” She says to Teagan without turning to look at him. “Maric shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have volunteered you.”

“He didn’t.” Teagan says simply. “I offered to stay.” He doesn’t voice any criticism of Bryce but she still feels like she has to defend him.

“The healer says Fergus will be fine. I’m being foolish.” In spite of her words, her eyes go to Fergus. She feels Teagan’s hand on her arm and realizes he’s moved to stand behind her.

“It’s not foolish. Not at all.”

“I didn’t even say farewell to the King.” 

“Maric understands.” Says Teagan soothingly.

She looks at him, not understanding why this man who is practically a stranger should be so kind. She looks away. Fergus is sound asleep now. If it weren’t for the rash you wouldn’t even know he was ill. But that could change. “You didn’t need to stay. Everything would have been fine. The castle practically runs itself.”

“I wasn’t worried about the castle, Eleanor. I was worried about you.”

He touches her shoulder lightly when he speaks, and it’s the easiest and most natural thing to turn and lean against him, to rest her head against his stomach. “I’m so scared Teagan. How could he not see how scared I am?” 

Teagan kneels down beside her. “I took the liberty of speaking to Esmond before I came up. He has every confidence that Fergus will be just fine.” His voice is soft and comforting. “I asked him how it compared to Aedan’s illness and he said there was no comparison, that Aedan was far more ill from the very start. Does it seem that way to you?”

She nods. “Yes.” 

His hand strokes her hair, and she knows she should say something or pull away, remind him she’s the teyrna, but the simple truth is she doesn’t want to. With every touch she can feel that paralyzing fear easing. She feels like she can breathe again.

“I know how scared you are.” He continues. “I know how brave you’re being. I know how much you want to stay by Fergus’ side but you need to sleep, Eleanor. I’ll stay with Fergus. I’ll watch him and if anything changes, anything at all I’ll come and get you.”

She doesn’t question how he knows she hasn’t slept and she doesn’t know why she trusts him so completely but she agrees. She returns to her room and falls asleep before she’s even had time to undress completely.

She’s awoken by Nan, knocking on the door and telling her that Fergus is awake and asking for her. The sun is just setting; she had no intention of sleeping this long. She rises, taking time only to change her dress and run a comb through her hair. She doesn’t even put it up in the customary twist at the nape of her neck, just ties it back with a ribbon, before rushing back to Fergus’ chamber. 

She hears Teagan’s voice even before she opens the door. He’s sitting at the side of the bed and Fergus is curled up facing him. Teagan’s reading to him, the story of King Calenhad, but when he sees Eleanor he stops and smiles at her.

Fergus turns and sees her. “Mummy.” His voice is hoarse. His cheeks are bright red and rough looking and she can see the rash has spread. She quickly goes to sit beside him. 

“Hello, my darling. How are you feeling?”

“My throat hurts and I’m hot.”

She places her hand on his forehead. He’s got a fever but not a bad one. “Has Esmond been to see you?”

“He was just here.” Teagan tells her. “He says Fergus is doing very well. He’s gone with Nan to make up something to help his throat.”

“Look Mummy. I’m all red. Teagan says it makes me look like I battled a dragon.”

She can’t help laughing. “It does a bit.” 

“Have you seen a dragon Mummy? Teagan hasn’t.”

“I’m happy to be able to say I haven’t.” She tells him, smoothing back his hair. She thrilled he’s awake and talking, and while he’s obviously in some discomfort it’s comparatively mild. She smiles at Teagan.

“Nan’s going to bring us up some dinner as well.” Teagan informs her. “I thought you’d prefer to eat here.”

“Yes,” She says, marveling at how much easier he’s making everything, still not understanding how he seems to know exactly the right things to do and say. He barely knows her. She and Bryce have been married for more than a decade. How is it this near stranger, this man who is barely more than a boy is the one sitting across from her offering the support and concern that she so desperately needs right now.

Nan and Esmond return with food for them and soup and a steaming hot honey-laced drink to soothe Fergus’s throat. They sit and eat and talk and even Fergus laughs at the quips Teagan makes.

Nan comes back with one of the servants for the trays, and orders both Eleanor and Teagan outside for some fresh air, saying she’ll watch Fergus.

They walk through the gardens, just enjoying the peace. They don’t bother with a light. The moon is full and shining brightly enough to cast shadows. They walk in the dim light, talking quietly of unimportant things and again she’s struck by how easy he is to be with. After a short time though her mind goes back to Fergus, and Teagan seems to sense it and suggests they return, and so they do, she to Fergus’ room, and, after he bids Fergus a good night, Teagan to his own. She’s smiling as she slips into the chair beside the bed.

“I like Teagan, don’t you Mummy?” Fergus asks sleepily.

“Yes, darling. Very much.” Too much, she thinks.

 

Fergus improves every day after that, and Esmond proclaims it quite the mildest case of Scarlatina he’s ever encountered. In a week the rash is fading, the sore throat gone, and Fergus is sneaking out of bed any chance he gets and Eleanor is so happy to see it that she can’t even scold him, all she can do is laugh with delight. 

She’s still laughing as Nan drags Fergus off to the bath. Still laughing as the door closes and Teagan crosses to her and grabs her by the waist and kisses her, firmly and thoroughly, in a way she hasn’t been kissed for years. By the time she remembers she isn’t supposed to be kissing him he’s already pulling back.

She raises a shaking hand to her lips. “I can’t.” She whispers.

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Beautiful and brave and loving. There’s so much love in you, Eleanor.” He tells her almost fiercely. His hands stay on her waist, he doesn’t try to move them, doesn’t try to pull her close or touch her anywhere else. He’s looking at her as if she’s the center of his world, as if he would devour her if he could, and it’s exciting and thrilling, and the smallest bit frightening.

“I can’t.” She repeats.

“I know.” He says, and leans down to kiss her again, just as thoroughly as before, and then he’s gone before she can reply or protest.

Or respond.

She avoids him that night, pleading a headache and eating in her room. She can’t sleep of course, and finally gives up and decides to find a book, something to read, anything to distract herself. She doesn’t bother dressing, just slips a robe over her nightdress as she leaves her room. The castle is quiet at this time of night. She goes into the library and moves to light one of the sconces. 

“You couldn’t sleep either.” 

She starts in surprise, and drops her candle and it goes out. Her eyes aren’t accustomed to the darkness and all she can see is a dim outline of Teagan’s form as he rises from the chair in which he’s been sitting. 

“No.” She says faintly as he moves in front of her. “I couldn’t.” She can see him more clearly now, and for the first time he seems grim, not at all like his usual easygoing self.

“Neither can I.” He stops and puts a finger under her chin lifting it and looking at her carefully. Hungrily. “Would you like to hear why?” 

She licks her suddenly dry lips. “Teagan…”

He slips his hand around the back of her neck preventing her from moving away, not that she would. “I can’t sleep because I close my eyes and all I can see is you. All I can think about is touching you. All I want to do is peel your clothes away and spread you open and thrust inside you. I want to make you moan and cry out. I want your legs to wrap around me pulling me farther in. I want to hear you cry out when you come and feel you tighten around me as you do.” He pauses and the only sound is the sound of their breathing. “That’s why I can’t sleep. Why can’t you?”

For the same reasons she thinks, even though she didn’t know or wouldn’t admit that’s what it was until she heard him say the words out loud. 

All of what she's thinking must show in her eyes, because his face changes then, to something triumphant, and then his hands are on the sash of her robe, yanking it open and sliding it off, and he’s kissing her and she's trembling with need and reaching up to push his own shirt off, and as if they’ve agreed without actually speaking, they fall to the floor together, his fingers unfastening the ties of her night dress and pushing it aside before his mouth moves to her breasts, licking and biting and then to her belly and then he’s pushing the hem of her night dress up and spreading her legs and his mouth is there, between her thighs and her whole body arches off the ground and he has to put his arm across her hips to hold her in place. 

In only seconds she’s coming faster and harder than she ever remembers coming before. He moves up so he’s above her and takes her hand and presses it to the front of his trousers, to the hardness there and she can’t keep from tightening her hand around him, gripping him and running her hand up the length of him. With a groan he collapses on top of her and kisses her and she can taste herself on his tongue and it makes her shiver.

“Tell me I can, Eleanor. Tell me you want me inside you as badly as I want to be inside you.” His voice is unsteady, deep and hoarse with desire. 

She couldn’t speak if she tried, she's been reduced to just need, so she reaches down, fumbling with the fastening of his trousers, and he tries to help her, but it’s she who pushes them down over his hips, running her hands over the curve of his buttocks and then reaching out to grasp him and guide him inside her and they both groan at the same time. He braces himself, on either side of her, holding himself up on his elbows. “You feel so good, Eleanor. Maker, you feel so good.” 

She’s never been one for talking during lovemaking; it always felt awkward and false somehow, so she’s surprised to hear herself tell him. “Move. I want to feel you moving inside me.” 

Even in the dim light she can see the heat flare in his eyes and he does as she asks, and she arches up to meet him, and it’s been so long since she felt the need to do that. Her arms curl around his back as the thrusts continue and then he shifts back on his heels straightening up, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her with him, so she’s straddling his lap, so that she’s the one who’s controlling the speed and the depth and the angle, and the thought of it thrills her and she’s writhing against him in a way that will make her blush later on, when she thinks of it alone in her bed. Right now she doesn’t care of how it looks or how it makes her seem, and she grips his shoulders tightly as much to hold on as to give her leverage. She arches back and his hand is right there, between her shoulder blades, supporting her. He whispers hoarse words of encouragement, telling her exactly how it feels to be inside her, in graphic detail but soon he’s reduced to short syllables of _yes_ and _good_ and _close, so close_. His hand slips between them and with unerring skill he finds that spot and strokes her matching her own movements and they come together at exactly the same moment something she didn’t think really happened something that was invented in those ridiculous Orlesian novels she sometimes reads. Her nails dig into his shoulders and she knows she’s breaking skin, leaving scratches, that it must be hurting him and she wants to apologize but all she can do is gasp, open-mouthed as the pleasure tears through her.

They sit wrapped around each other, the only sound their harsh breathing, before she comes to her senses and pulls away, fastening her night dress with shaking hands. 

He watches her and then says her name softly, gently, the way you would speak to a woodland creature you were trying to keep from bolting.

“It can’t happen again.” She tells him, pushing to her feet ignoring the wetness between her legs, a slow trail of his seed running down the inside of her thigh. She must be mad, she thinks.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches as she grabs her robe and pulls it back on and leaves the library.

 

 

The next morning he behaves as if nothing has happened between them. She’s relieved at first, and then puzzled, and by the time evening has fallen and everyone in the castle is asleep, she’s angry. They need to talk about it. To agree it won’t happen again.

Or that’s what she tells herself, not even attempting to explain why she’s combing her hair and leaving it loose down her back, or why she doesn’t bother with a robe but leaves her room wearing nothing but a nightgown of Orlesian silk she'd purchased on a whim but never worn.

The whole house is quiet. Everyone’s asleep but her and she doesn’t bother with a candle. She goes to the corridor where the guest bedrooms are. Teagan’s the only one sleeping in this wing. She enters the room without knocking. 

He’s awake and sits up in bed as she enters. When she closes the door, he tosses the covers aside and gets out of bed stalking towards her, naked, and already aroused and she suddenly can’t remember what she was going to say. 

He walks up to her and kisses her on the mouth until she’s breathless. 

And then, abruptly, he turns her so she’s facing away from him and pushes her nightgown off her shoulders. It falls in a soft puddle of silk at her feet. 

He places her hands on the wall in front of her. Brushing her hair back, he nuzzles her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “I’ve been lying awake thinking of you. Thinking of what I would do to you if you were here.” 

Her heart skips a beat. She tries to speak. “I…” She starts to turn around and his hands are on top of hers, pressing them firmly back against the wall.

“Don’t take your hands away from the wall.” He orders.

Before she can ask him why or what, he’s moved behind her again. His hand curves around her throat, not tight, not dangerous, just tilting her head back and holding her in place. She knows he must be able to feel how fast her pulse is racing. His lips are warm against the nape of her neck. “I want to taste and touch every inch of you. But you can’t take your hands off the wall.” 

He leans forward, running his hands down the length of her arms, from her shoulders to her wrists, until his hands cover hers, and he’s pressed flush up against her. She can feel him, the length of him hard against the small of her back before he pulls away again. His mouth trails down her back, and he makes good on his promise, tasting everywhere, places she never would have considered, whispering softly where he’s going to touch her, how he’s going to touch her just before he does, and by the time he’s done she realizes why he put her hands against the wall because it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Each touch of hands and lips and tongue has brought her closer to the edge, but never over it. “Please.” She hears herself beg. “Please.” 

As if he’s been waiting for her to say it, he sweeps her up and carries her to the bed. She reaches for him but he turns her to her stomach and then pulls her hips up so she’s on all fours. She feels him, just the head of him push into her. 

“Please.” She repeats again. She tries to push back against him, to take more of him inside but his hands are tight on her hips and he won’t let her. 

He eases in slowly, but not all the way, and then he pulls back out so again, it’s just the tip of him inside her. She’s shaking with need, and he strokes her back soothingly. 

He’s only twenty-one she thinks. How did he learn all this so young? 

“So beautiful like this. So perfect.” His hands trail over her back and then slip around her to stroke gently between her thighs, all around, everywhere but that one spot she wants him to touch her most. 

“Teagan.” She pleads.

He pushes inside her, all the way inside her this time and she’s so wet it’s an effortless glide, but still he’s not moving, still his fingers are teasing her and she wants to weep with frustration.

He’s curved around her, surrounding her and his mouth is at her ear. “I’ve dreamed of you saying my name like that. Say it again.” And he pulls back and thrusts into her, hard and sudden.

“Teagan!” She not sure if she’s following his command, or begging him to move again, but it doesn’t matter.

“Yes, like that.” He mutters and thrusts again and then again, and he finally touches her there, where she needs it most and the world seems to shatter around her, and she’s only dimly aware that he’s continuing to slam into her holding her hips so tightly that she’s knows she’ll have bruises tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter, because the only thing that matters is this joining, all the world has been reduced to this one spot where their bodies meet. He stiffens behind her letting out a guttural cry, and she can feel him coming inside her hot and hard, actually feel it.

They both collapse on the bed, neither of them able to speak at first. He rolls off of her but pulls her to him so he’s spooned around her, held in his arms. He presses a kiss to her hair.

“I don’t understand why you’re even doing this.” She tells him. But her hands curl around his arm. 

He laughs. “After that, you have to ask why?”

“Nothing can come of it.” She warns him.

“I know that.” He strokes her hair, now damp with sweat, away from her face.

She turns in his arms to look at him. “Then why? There are so many other women you could have. Why me? Why this?”

He’s looking at her as if she’s the most precious thing the Maker ever created. “I want to chase the sadness from your eyes. I want to make you realize what a rare and glorious creature you are. The first time I saw you, you took my breath away, sitting there, laughing at something someone had said, with your green eyes and golden hair, glowing with happiness, your hand resting on your swollen belly, like a fertility goddess of old.” 

She flushes, remembering how young he was, “You were just a boy.”

He laughs. “I thought of you for months after that meeting. The first time I ever took myself in hand I thought of you.” He bends closer to put his mouth by her ear. "I still do." he whispers.

She groans and hides her head against his chest, and he laughs again. “You are the most wonderful mixture of wanton woman and ever so proper lady.” He tells her. He turns them suddenly, so she’s on her back staring up at him, and he leans down and kisses her.

“I’d forgotten how to be wanton.” She whispers.

He kisses her again, gently this time, just a brush of his lips against hers. “I’d be happy to remind you.” He says, and the words should be light and teasing but they’re not. They’re an invitation and a question and a plea. He wants this, wants her, truly wants her, not just as a plaything or a conquest. 

She doesn’t understand why but as she looks at him she realizes she’s going to let herself have this, have him, just for a short time, just until the Landsmeet is over and Bryce returns. Then she’ll go back to being the perfect wife, and mother, the perfect teyrna.

  


Her days are much the same as they’ve ever been. Running the castle, taking care of Fergus, addressing any concerns or problems that might arise. Teagan is a help with all of it. Fergus adores him and once he’s fully recovered he trails Teagan like a shadow.

Teagan seems to return the affection, spending hours with the boy, teaching him swordplay and taking him riding and fishing and hunting. All three of them dine together, and the meals are merry affairs. Fergus goes to bed earlier than they do, of course. They move to the atrium or the library, reading or talking quietly over wine or brandy. She always retires before he does, bidding him sleep well, and he returns the sentiment.

And every night when the castle is quiet and dark she slips through the shadows to his room and his bed.

  


“I used to dream of you. I used to stroke myself thinking of your lips around me.” He tells her as they lie in tangled sheets after yet another bout of lovemaking.

He makes her shiver when he speaks like that. Bryce never talks during their lovemaking. Teagan whispers or speaks almost constantly but it’s not vulgar or unappealing as she would have thought. When Teagan speaks it only seems to increase her desire, to make her anticipate his actions. She’s never been as aroused as she is by Teagan.

She strokes her hands over his chest. For all his skill and prowess, in some ways it’s still a boy’s body, narrower and less powerful than it will be in a few years. She should feel guilty, like some sort of wicked corrupting temptress but all she can think of is that right now, right here, it belongs to her, to do whatever she wants with. She leans down and runs her tongue around his nipple. Her leg is across his hips and she feels him twitch against her. She lifts her head, raising her eyebrow. “Truly? So soon?” She can’t help the small smug smile.

He laughs. “It has a mind of its own. And Eleanor is hard to resist.” He pulls her back against him so her head is resting on his chest. "Eleanor. It’s such a formal name.” His fingers stroke her bare hip.

She smiles. “I was Nora when I was little.”

“You’ve never been Nell?” He asks.

“No. Why?”

“I’ve always liked the name. Nell. Nell would be brave and fearless, but not harsh or unkind. She’d stand up for herself, but not at the expense of others. It’s a strong name but still one that can laugh.”

“That’s a lot to put on a name.” She says, smiling.

He turns so he’s on his side, propped up on his elbow. For a moment he just looks at her and when he speaks his voice is filled with longing. “If we had a daughter I’d name her after you, and call her Nell.”

She feels a lump in her throat. He knows as well as she that it’s an impossible dream. “Teagan.”

He rests his head against her breast but not before she’s seen the tears in his eyes. “The Landsmeet will be over soon. We’ll be over.”

She strokes his hair. “Yes.” 

“Are you sorry? Do you regret this?” He sounds as young as he is when he says it.

“No. I could never regret this.” 

 

She’s sure Nan knows, but she isn’t condemning or judgmental in the slightest, and only says anything once, when without a word she re pins Eleanor’s hair so a mark on her neck is covered by it.

“The Landsmeet will be over soon. The Teyrn will be back.” She pauses. “Life will get back to normal.” Her eyes meet Eleanor’s in the mirror.

“Yes.” Eleanor agrees. “Back to what it was before.”

Nan watches her carefully for a minute and then nods. “Yes.” Her normally stern face softens a bit. “Go on then. The men are waiting for you.”

 

Everything feels slightly unreal. Everything but the nights she spends with Teagan. They do everything, things she never dreamed she would find exciting or even appealing and she tells him everything, every secret desire and fantasy she’s ever had, even ones she hadn’t admitted to herself that she had. 

“I want to be chased.” She tells him. 

“Chased?” He says, pretending not to know what she means, but his mouth is curved at the corner and she can tell he’s already thinking of it. 

“I want to be chased through the dark. I want to be hunted.” She runs her tongue over her lips. “I want to be caught.” She says and the heat in his eyes makes her heart skip a beat. 

He looks around the room. “There’s not much space for it here.”

Her heart is beating faster. “There’s a whole corridor outside. A whole hallway of empty rooms.” 

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise?” He asks looking at her.

And just from that look she knows he wants it too. “No.” She says. 

He smiles then. “One…” he says.

She stares at him in a panic. “What, now?” She says stupidly.

“Two…”

She scrambles out of bed and realizes she’s naked. She couldn’t possibly run naked through the castle, could she?

“Three.”

No, even she has her limits. Laughing she grabs the sheet off the bed and wraps it around her, skillfully avoiding his hands as he grabs for her. She almost trips on the length of it, pulling it up and slipping.

“Four.” He calls as she stumbles for the door, and she can hear him getting out of the bed already and the fact that he’s cheating makes her laugh even more as she looks over her shoulder at him and yanks open the door and runs through it.

Runs right into Eamon and Bryce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration pictures and such can be found on my tumblr:
> 
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> [Battle Maiden photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/battle+maiden)


	3. Picking up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teagan, Eleanor and Bryce have to deal with the results of what's happened

It’s Eamon who’s directly in front of the doorway, and it’s Eamon who she plows into with such force that if he hadn’t automatically reached out to catch her she would have fallen. When he realizes he’s holding the near naked wife of the Teyrn of Highever a look of alarm crosses his face and he lets go so quickly that she nearly falls again, would have fallen in fact had Bryce not caught her arm. The sheet slips, revealing most of her back, down to the curve of her behind and she’s scrambling for it just as Teagan appears in the doorway, naked, his grin vanishing when he sees who’s there.

She can tell Bryce hasn’t quite processed what he’s seeing because his immediate reaction is to pull up the sheet so she’s covered, and then he goes still, as still as if he’d been caught by a paralysis spell. He looks at Teagan, taking in his nudity and then down at Eleanor and she can see the very moment when he comprehends just what it means.

If she had been asked how Bryce would have reacted she’d have said he’d be angry, angry and cold as he is when something displeases him, but that’s the farthest thing from what she sees on his face.

He looks wounded. As if someone has torn out his heart and crushed it in front of him and she realizes that’s exactly what she’s done. 

As angry as she was with him, as much as she’s increasingly resented him over the past few years, she never want to hurt him, not like this. She never wanted to see him look like this.

It’s Eamon who recovers first, shouting at Teagan, barking at him to put some clothes on for the Maker’s sake, pushing him into his room and following him and they can hear him haranguing Teagan about violating the very rules of hospitality.

Bryce rubs his forehead.

“I didn’t expect you back yet.” She says, and immediately regrets her choice of words – that she didn’t expect him back is obvious. “You didn’t send word.” She says, correcting herself. It’s not much better.

“No.” Says Bryce, still not looking at her. “I wanted to be home. I thought rather than send a messenger I’d simply come myself. I left as soon as the Landsmeet was over. Eamon offered to accompany me. We decided to ride through to Highever instead of stopping along the way. Rather than rousing the servants to make up a room at this time of night Eamon said he’d bunk with his brother. I was showing him to Teagan’s room. I never thought…” His voice trails off and he looks down the dark corridor.

She’s never seen Bryce like this – so uncertain, so tentative. “Bryce.” She says and reaches out to touch his arm.

He moves his arm away before she can. “Do you have a gown or some kind of clothing?” He asks her.

“A robe.” She manages to say, and she’s shocked at how surprisingly normal her voice sounds. 

Bryce knocks on the partially open door. Eamon comes to it offering apology after apology for his brother but Bryce cuts him off. “The teyrna left a robe in the room. Could you get it for us please?”

Even facing away from the door, even not looking at Eamon’s face it’s humiliating and she feels her cheeks burn. After a moment Bryce comes up behind her, shielding her from view and holding the robe up for her, as politely as if they were departing a ball they’d just attended. She slips her arms into the sleeves, awkwardly letting go of the sheet as she ties it at the waist. Bryce picks it the sheet and hands it to Eamon.

“I’ll return as soon as I’ve escorted Eleanor to her room.” He tells the Arl.

Neither of them speaks as they return to the family’s chambers. Bryce holds her door open, stepping aside so she can enter. He remains in the corridor. 

At her questioning look he says. “I need to talk to Teagan. We’ll speak after.” He doesn’t say any more, just quietly closes the door. She listens to his retreating footsteps and she can only sit there, unable to move. She should be frightened. She’s an adulteress. Bryce could take away Fergus, publicly shame her, send her to live out her days in the Chantry.

All she can think of is the expression on Bryce’s face. Other than that she’s numb.

It seems forever until he returns. He knocks on the door and she answers it immediately. His face is almost grey with exhaustion. “Teagan and Eamon will be leaving first thing in the morning.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“I’d appreciate it if you would come down for that. No one knows that Teagan and you…” He has to stop for a moment. “It would seem strange if you didn’t come down to see them off after all Teagan did to help when Fergus was ill.”

It’s little enough to ask of her. “Of course.”

He pauses again, a longer pause this time. “I thought you would want to say good bye to him. In private I mean.” She must look as stunned by the offer as she feels because he adds. “I know you Eleanor. You wouldn’t have done something like this without feeling something for him.” 

_I know you Eleanor_. It must be true because he’s right, both about caring for Teagan and wanting to say a private farewell. 

“Thank you.” She doesn’t deserve the kindness or the courtesy.

“He’s waiting in the atrium. We’ll speak tomorrow, after they’ve departed.” He turns away, having never quite looked at her and goes to his own room, shutting the door behind him. 

She stares at that closed door, wondering if guilt and regret can cause actual physical damage, or if it’s something else causing this aching pain in her chest. 

Teagan’s sitting on one of the chairs in the atrium looking quite as demolished as she feels, and for the first time he looks far younger than his twenty-one years. When he sees her he immediately gets to his feet, but stands there uncertainly. It’s left to her to close the distance between them. 

He looks as if his heart is breaking and the expression is almost identical to the one Bryce is wearing.

She can’t help reaching up and stroking the side of his face. “I’m sorry Teagan.” 

What a fool she’s been. She’d known how irresponsible she was being, how recklessly she was behaving, and yet, wrapped up in her resentment and unhappiness she’d failed completely to consider that there were others who might be hurt by her actions. Who have been hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

Two good men, kind and honorable men in a world where that’s so rare and she’s hurt both of them, beyond excuse or explanation.

“He offered to let me say good bye to you.” Teagan tells her. “I didn’t expect… I didn’t know… I’ve always heard people speak of what a good man the Teyrn is. I thought it was just the way people talked. If you’re pleasant and friendly, and not a snake like Howe or a grim bastard like Loghain they say ‘he’s a good man'. It’s more than that with him. I didn’t expect that, for some reason.” He looks at her. “I asked you this before. Do you regret it? What happened between us?” 

She suddenly can’t see because of the tears in her eyes. “I regret the hurt I’ve caused, both to you and to Bryce. I regret whatever repercussions might come of it, for all of us. But you and I?” She shakes her head. “No. I can’t regret that.”

He comes to her then and takes her by the shoulders and kisses her, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her lips, knowing it won’t happen again after this. “I love you. I should have said that before this. And I will never love anyone else like this.” His voice is fierce.

The tears which have been threatening are rolling down her cheeks now. “Oh, Teagan. You will. It may not feel like it right now, but you’re so young. You will.”

Instead of being hurt or offended by her words, he just smiles and brushes away her tears away. “I will never love anyone else the way I love you.” He repeats. “And there won’t be a day goes by that I don’t think about you, and what we had even if it was only for a few weeks.” He kisses her one more time, and then takes a step back, still looking at her. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

“I’ll never forget you.” She promises. And it’s true.

He smiles then, a wistful sad smile. “No. Promise me you won’t forget you again. That you’ll always remember how truly extraordinary you are. Promise me that, and I’ll be able to leave.” 

And all she can do is tell him. “I promise.”

He nods and the smile slowly fades away. He stares at her for a minute, a look filled with longing and even in the dim light of the atrium she can see a single tear trail down his cheek, and then he turns and is gone.

She doesn’t sleep of course, but she’s ready in the morning, perfectly dressed and coiffed, the perfect teyrna, sending her guests off on their journey. They all play their roles perfectly, aided by Fergus’ enthusiastic hugs and farewells, and his joy at Bryce’s unexpected return. 

At only one point does she vary from the script. Etiquette demands that they stay and watch their guests until they leave the outer gate. As soon as Teagan and Eamon have turned their horses, as soon as they can no longer see her, she leaves and goes back inside.

She and Bryce continue to play their roles perfectly for the rest of the day. They both tuck Fergus into bed, and she leaves Bryce to read him his bedtime story, returning to her own room.

Soon Fergus will be too old to want bed time stories, she thinks as she walks away.

She doesn’t bother getting ready for bed. She knows Bryce will be here soon for their talk.

When he knocks she bids him enter. He comes in, closing the door behind him. They just look at each other. She needs to be the first one to speak. She opens her mouth to offer the apology he deserves.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinks at him in surprise. She’d been about to say the very same words. “You’re sorry?” She asks in confusion.

“I failed you Eleanor.” He walks over to the fireplace, resting his hands on the mantel. “It was so easy between us at first. We met, we fell in love, we got married, we had Fergus. It was so effortless. I laughed at other men who complained about their marriages, or their wives. I was so smug. Our lives were perfect, and I didn’t even have to do anything. And then you lost a child, and it was harder, but I thought it’s just a little bump in the road. A lost child, it’s happens to a lot of couples, and they get by. Everything else is perfect. But then it happened again and then again.” He stops and she knows they’re both remembering Elissa, that beautiful perfect baby. “And each time I watched as you pulled away, each time a little farther and I didn’t know what to do or say to bring you back. I watched as you changed from the laughing battle maiden I met during the Rebellion into the perfect teyrna. At first I thought it was all right. She’s maturing that’s all, it was perfectly natural, I told myself. Men would congratulate me on having the perfect wife. Tell me how they envied me. I told myself I should be happy. But I wasn’t, and I knew you weren’t either. You were disappearing, piece by piece, and I didn’t know how to find you. You’d hidden yourself so well.” He pushes himself away from the mantel, turning to look at her finally. “When you ran out of that room, laughing, wrapped only in a sheet, with your hair streaming behind you, my first thought was, it’s Eleanor, she’s back, and for just a split second I was so happy. And then I realized….” His face is blazing with emotion, and it’s such a foreign thing to see on her perfectly controlled teryn husband that she doesn’t know how to react.

She moves closer to him, but isn’t quite brave enough to touch him. “I’m sorry.” She says. “I never intended…”

He continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “Teagan found you. He brought you back, not me. A part of me is grateful. And a part of me will always hate him for it.” 

She doesn’t know what to say so she remains silent.

“I thought we were just drifting apart. I thought it was what happened to couples, to marriages. Everything else was perfect. We weren’t as close but we were still the perfect couple, the perfect Teyrn and Teyrna. I didn’t even realize you were angry with me until you yelled at me the night before I left. It was only then I admitted that something might be very, very wrong between us. That the distance between us wasn’t normal. That the perfect teyrna was just a disguise you wore to hide how unhappy you were.” 

It sounds horrid when he puts it like that and she tries to explain. “At first it was the only way I could cope. The only way I could move on after losing so many. It didn’t seem to matter to you. You just shrugged it off.”

And for the first time since his return Bryce seems angry, is angry. “You think I just shrugged it off?” He shouts at her. “I held Elissa for hours after she was born. They had to get Mother Mallol to come talk to me, to convince me to let her go. Maker, Eleanor she was beautiful. Every year on her birthday I think of her. What she would be like. How she would have acted. She would have looked just like you, I could tell just from looking at her. You could have taught her to use a bow. I would have loved to have seen that. To see the two of you training together like that. And Aedan. More charm than should be allowed, but the kindest heart that a child ever possessed.” He breaks off and sinks down into the chair by the fire and he’s sobbing suddenly, harsh wracking sobs that shake his whole body.

For a moment all she can do is stare. She’s never seen him cry before, not even a tear and before she realizes what she’s doing she’s on her knees in front of him, holding him. He tries to pull away, to turn his face from her but she refuses to let him, and then he’s clinging to her, still sobbing and she’s crying as well. 

“So much loss, Eleanor. Tell me I haven’t lost you as well. I couldn’t bear it if I’ve lost you as well.”

And she can answer him honestly. “No. You haven’t lost me.” 

They both work at it as carefully as if they were courting again, and in a way they are. The first time they make love there’s franticness on Bryce’s part as if he’s trying to outdo whatever she and Teagan did together. She tries to allay that fear with her own caresses and whispered words and eventually he relaxes and it’s good. There’s a familiarity and comfort in being with Bryce again, and both of them are so determined to make it work that good becomes better than good and then wonderful as they slowly relearn each other. 

After a fortnight of coming to her room every night, Bryce asks if they can share a chamber again and her yes comes without hesitation.

That’s she’s pregnant comes as a complete shock. 

She tells Bryce immediately and he goes very still, and then turns in his chair and pulls her closer so she’s standing directly in front of him. He touches her abdomen and then presses his lips there. “It’s my child.” He says.

She’s confused for a moment and thinks he must be asking and all she can do is stammer. “I don’t know. I’ve never been regular, you know that and…” 

He interrupts her. “It’s my child Eleanor. Our child.” 

And his eyes are filled with such love and such undeniable happiness at the thought of another child that all she can do is nod. “Yes. Our child.” She doesn’t know what she did to deserve this wonderful man. 

 

When the baby arrives, it’s a girl, ridiculous healthy, and roaring her outrage from the start and continuing to roar as Nan cleans her off while Esmond tends to Eleanor. 

The baby doesn’t stop crying as Nan diapers her and dresses her in one of the gowns Eleanor has made and embroidered during her confinement. 

“Will you listen to that fuss?” Says Nan to the infant. “And I suppose you think throwing a tantrum’s going to get you what you want?” But she has a broad smile on her face, as glad as anyone in the castle that there’s another child, another Cousland heir.

Bryce walks into the room just as Nan is about to bring the screaming infant out to him. “Is everything all right?” He’d been waiting outside with Mother Mallol but when the crying hadn’t stopped he’d been unable to wait any longer.

Nan rocks the baby trying in vain to soothe her. “Milady’s just making her displeasure known at having to leave her mother’s nice warm belly is all.”

“Milady?” Asks Bryce. “It’s a girl?” He shoots a smile at Eleanor, who smiles wearily back at him.

“Indeed she is, fine and healthy and a pretty one at that, if louder than a proper young lady should be.” Nan says to the baby in a reprimanding voice.

Bryce reaches for the infant and as soon as she’s in his arms, nestled against his chest, the crying stops. It just ceases. She looks at the man holding her with a comically serious expression for a minutes old babe, and then reaches up a hand. 

Bryce reaches to touch it, marveling at how small she is, and she grabs a hold of his finger, still staring at him, still completely quiet. 

Nan raises an eyebrow. “Well look at that. A daddy’s girl already.”

Bryce is already completely under her spell. “Yes.” He looks up. “Could you leave us please?” When all the servants have left the room, he goes to Eleanor, and sits beside her, still cradling the infant in his arms. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Eleanor rests her head against his arm, looking at their daughter. “She’s so beautiful.”

“She’s perfect.” Says Bryce. “I know we’d discussed some names, but I’d like to call her after you. There’s no one I’d rather she be like.” 

Eleanor smiles at him and looks over at the child. “Won’t it be confusing having two Eleanors?” She asks.

“We could call her Nora, as you were when you were little.” Bryce suggests. When he looks at Eleanor there are tears in her eyes. 

“No. We’ll call her Nell.” She says.

“Nell.” Bryce repeats, looking at the baby again. “I like it. It’s a strong name.”

“Yes.” Eleanor agrees. “But one that can laugh. Nell Cousland.” And then she’s crying.

Bryce looks alarmed. “Eleanor, my love, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” She insists. “I’m happy is all.” She reaches out a hand and touches Nell's cheek. “I’m just happy.”

 

Nell, as Nan predicted, is a daddy’s girl, and Bryce is equally devoted to her, but in truth they all are, everyone in the castle. 

She’s absolutely fearless, and completely charming and beautiful, not in the way most babies are, not because she’s small and doll like, but truly beautiful, in a way that makes her seem older than her years, with thick wavy brown hair and a full mouth that’s wider than the bow lips that are considered the ideal for a girl, and with striking light blue eyes, but they’re not cold, Eleanor thinks one day when Nell is four years old. 

She’s in the library, needlework in hand, watching as Aldous tutors her daughter on the proper way to hold a quill.

They’re not the gray blue of Bryce’s eyes, a color that can look as cold as a winter day when he’s being stern. Nell’s eyes are quite the warmest blue eyes she’s ever seen.

As if she knows her mother is thinking of her, Nell looks up at her and smiles.

And Eleanor’s heart clenches. She knows those eyes. She knows that smile.

“My lady?” Aldous asks, suddenly at her side. “Are you all right?”

“I think last night’s fish must have disagreed with me.” She lies smoothly, and excusing herself she retreats to their bedroom telling herself it’s foolish to be so surprised, they’d known all along it was a possibility, but the thought of what the knowledge will do to Bryce is breaking her heart. 

Bryce comes into the room a short time later. “Nell said you weren’t feeling well.” He frowns as he looks at her. “Shall I send for Esmond?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She briefly considers not saying anything but since they reconciled they’ve been nothing but honest with each other. “It’s Nell. I just noticed… her eyes.”

“She has Teagan’s eyes.” Says Bryce, almost matter of factly, and for a moment all she can do is gape at him. 

“You knew?” She manages to get out.

“I wondered when you’d notice, actually. They’re quite distinctive.” He seems perfectly accepting of it.

“Yes.” She agrees. “They are.” After a moment she steels herself enough to ask. “Don’t you mind?” 

“Mind that my beautiful daughter has such striking eyes?”

She’s speechless again, and then she flings her arms around him. “I don’t deserve you.” She says against his neck. If it takes the rest of her life she'll prove her devotion to him.

He hugs her back. “Whatever happened that summer brought you back to me. Brought us Nell. I can never regret that.”

She kisses him with all the passion and love that she feels for him and they end up spending the rest of the afternoon in bed together, much to Fergus’ horror when he comes looking for them. 

 

By the time Nell is ten she looks so much like Teagan that it starts to concern even Bryce. Anyone who saw her next to Teagan would be hard pressed not to see the resemblance. 

And Eamon and the King would certainly remember that summer.

“We could stay here. You could go to the Landsmeet by yourself and not stay for any of the festivities.” Suggests Eleanor.

“Won’t Nell be disappointed? Her first trip to court?”

Eleanor just laughs. “You know she’d be more than happy to run wild around Highever, and have nothing to do with wearing dresses and going to dances."

“Yes. I suppose she would.” He says, but he seems distracted.

“I’m sorry.” She says, looking away. 

Bryce is immediately beside her, slipping his arm around her. “No, it’s not that.” He watches as Fergus plays with Nell, teaching her how to use a wooden practice sword. Nell’s shown no interest in a bow at all. He turns back to Eleanor. “He should know he has a daughter. We’re selfish, keeping that from him.” 

 

Teagan’s in the field helping repair a fence when one of the servants comes running up, calling his name, saying they have a visitor at the castle. He straightens, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “A visitor?”

“The Teyrn of Highever, he said he was.” 

Teagan heads back to the castle, thinking that man must have gotten it wrong. Why would Bryce be here? 

He’s informed that Bryce is waiting in the study, when he gets back. It’s been eleven years, almost to the day he thinks. Why confront him now, for he can’t think of any other reason for the man to be here. 

When he goes into the room Bryce is pacing in front of the fireplace. It takes him a moment to realize Bryce is nervous. Perhaps as nervous as he is.

“Teagan.”

“My lord.” When Bryce doesn’t say anything he adds. “This is a surprise. You have business that brings you to the Bannorn?”

“I’m fetching young Roderick Gilmore. He’s to be a squire in Highever.”

“He’s very lucky.” It doesn’t explain what Bryce is doing here, however.

“It will be difficult at first, of course, leaving his family. I’ve brought my daughter along. Someone his own age will put him at ease. And they’ll be training together.”

“Your daughter is training?” He can’t help smiling. Eleanor’s gotten her wish. He’d heard that there had been another child, and he’d been happy for Eleanor, and envious of course. There have been other women, but none who meant a fraction of what Eleanor had….did. 

“Yes. She’s going to be quite the battle maiden. Like her mother.” He pauses, not quite meeting Teagan’s eyes. “Your housekeeper was kind enough to take her to the kitchens for some refreshment.” He seems to hesitate again. “Would you like to meet her?”

Teagan still doesn’t understand. “Of course.” 

They head down to the kitchen, and there’s a girl sitting at the table, chattering happily away to his housekeeper. As soon as she sees Bryce she jumps up and comes running to meet them. She’s wearing a set of dark blue leathers, instead of a dress as one might have expected of the daughter of a Teryn. “Dada, there you are.” She says, slipping her hand into Bryce’s. Behind her Teagan’s housekeeper smiles at them and leaves the room. 

“Hello pup.” Says Bryce.

Before Bryce can introduce her, she’s turned a pair of big blue eyes to Teagan. “Are you the Bann? I like your house. It must be nice to live out here in the Bannorn. We live right on top of a big town. You have to ride for ages before you get to some place as nice as this in Highever. Do you ride? I’ve got a pony named Shambles, but Dada says I’ve got to be eleven before I can have a real horse.”

“I thought you loved Shambles.” Says Bryce. 

“Of course I love Shambles. But Mother Mallol says Andraste taught us there’s no limit to love, so there’s no reason why I couldn’t love Shambles and a new horse.” Her hair is thick and wavy and she’s wearing it loose. She has a widow’s peak which makes it fall forward into her face and she repeatedly brushes it back as she speaks.

Teagan has the same sort of widow’s peak and the same problem. He keeps the front section in a braid for just that reason. 

His heart skips a bit at that thought, though he’s not certain why.

She’s speaking to him, trying to enlist his aid. “If you had a daughter wouldn’t you let her have a horse before she was eleven?” 

Teagan sees Bryce stiffen at her words. 

He can’t help staring at her now. She’s tall for her age. If he didn’t know, he would have said she was older than eleven now. Neither Bryce nor Eleanor are particularly tall. She doesn’t look like either of them. “Your father probably knows best.” He says, realizing she’s waiting for an answer. “Perhaps he thinks you need to be bigger.”

She gives a small disbelieving snort and brushes her hair from her face again. Her hair is darker than Eleanor’s blonde, a rich golden brown. Bryce’s hair is completely grey now but Teagan remembers it being far darker than his daughter’s, more the color of Fergus’.

“That’s just silly,” the girl says. “I’m already taller than Fergus was when he was eleven, and he had a horse. I know because Mummy marks how big we are on one of the walls in our castle.”

“How old are you?” Teagan asks. His is heart is thumping uncomfortably.

“I’m ten. Fergus is eighteen. Almost nineteen. But I feel much older than ten; twelve or thirteen at least.” She turns suddenly to Bryce. “Dada, they’ve got some lovely marmalade here. Do you think I could have another piece of bread and jam?” Before her father can answer she turns back to Teagan. “We hardly ever get marmalade at home because Fergus is allergic to oranges. He breaks out in hives and goes all red and blotchy.”

Ten years old. He was in Highever eleven years ago.

“I’m sure that’ll be fine, pup.”

She looks back at Teagan and frowns. “You look sort of woozy. Have you been out in the sun too long?”

Teagan feels woozy. He sits down on one of the chairs. “That must be it.”

“Pup, why don’t you go find the housekeeper and ask her to bring some brandy for the Bann?” 

“All right, Dada.” She says, eager to help. She runs from the room.

Teagan stares after her and then turns back to Bryce. “What’s her name?"

“Nell.” Says Bryce.

Teagan can’t help a small laugh. _I’d name her after you but call her Nell_. “She’s beautiful. You’re very lucky.”

“She’s a blessing. A wonderful child.” 

“Why tell me now?”

“I, we, thought you should know.”

“She looks like me.” Teagan says dumbly.

“More every year. Even now if the two of you were beside each other there would be questions. Speculation.”

Teagan thinks of what would happen. Bryce revealed as a cuckold. Eleanor’s reputation shattered, and Nell labeled a bastard. He thinks unexpectedly of Alistair, raised as a servant in Eamon’s household, in spite of the fact his father is the king. That is until Isolde insisted he be shipped off to the Chantry a few years ago. “I don’t go to court very often as it is.” He tells Bryce. “No one will notice if my absences increase.” 

Bryce nods his approval. “And we’ll keep Nell in Highever. She prefers it to Denerim anyway. I can go back and forth when the King requires my presence.” He seems relieved Teagan understands.

“You do a lot of trade in Denerim. Won’t it suffer?”

“I’m moving it to Highever. We’re already expanding the port. We’ll eliminate the middlemen in Denerim and the Orlesians can come directly to us. Urien Kendalls won’t be pleased, but I think improving relations with Orlais can only help Ferelden’s standing in Thedas. Increased trade will benefit both nations.”

“Loghain won’t like it either.” The Teryn of Gwaren is vehemently opposed to the idea of anything Orlesian. Look at that fuss he’d kicked up when Maric had allowed the Grey Wardens to return.

“Probably not.” Bryce agrees, in a tone that makes it clear that pleasing Loghain is the least of his concerns. “Loghain’s remarkably shortsighted when it comes to Orlais.”

They both look towards the doorway at the sound of Nell’s voice.

Bryce turns back to Teagan. “Eleanor will write you. Twice a year. Not often enough that people would notice. She’ll let you know how Nell is doing. I would ask that you not write though back though.” 

It seems a small enough favor when you consider that he made a cuckold of the man, and that Bryce is raising his child. Not just raising, but loving her as much as any father could, that much is clear. “Thank you.” He wants these letters. He has a daughter and all he knows about her is that she wants a horse and likes marmalade. He wants to know everything about her. “Tell Eleanor I said thank you.”

Bryce and Nell depart soon after. 

Eleanor’s first letter arrives a few weeks later. He’d expected the letter would be brief but it's long and filled with details that make him smile. He loses count of how many times he reads it. Nell seems remarkable. Eleanor makes no direct references to their time together, but he doesn’t fault her for that. 

As he promised he doesn’t write back, and he avoids Denerim and the court as much as possible. 

 

The years pass. Teagan remains unmarried and stays in Rainesfere.

Maric disappears and Cailan becomes king, though Bryce is nearly elected in his place. Teagan publicly supports his nephew, but he can’t help but wonder if Ferelden might not be better off under Bryce’s rule. Cailan, while charming, isn’t particularly astute or perceptive where politics are concerned. Anora is the force there, and he admits to some concern that her loyalties lie with her father rather than her husband. 

Shortly after what would be Nell’s twentieth birthday a messenger arrives at Rainesfere. 

At first disappointed because it’s from Redcliffe rather than Highever, Teagan’s concerned to discover that Eamon is ill, gravely ill, according to Isolde’s slightly hysterical message, which speaks of sending Eamon’s knights out in search of Andraste’s Ashes.

 _Maker’s balls_ , he thinks. The knights and Eamon are supposed to be headed to Ostagar, not sent off on some fool’s errand. He and his own men were to join them. Darkspawn have been sighted, and there are rumors of a blight, though everyone is anxious to dismiss them. If it is true, then Cailan will need every knight available.

Teagan heads to Redcliffe to see just what’s going on and when he arrives he learns of the disaster that took place at Ostagar. Cailan dead, and no heir. Loghain has called for a meeting in Denerim to confirm Anora as queen and himself as Regent. 

As the only one of Cailan’s uncles able to do so, he immediately heads to Denerim. On the road he begins to hear rumors.

It seems certain it is in fact the start of a blight.

The Grey Wardens are accused of betraying Cailan and all died with him. Teagan wonders if Alistair, who’d only just joined the order was among them. Both of Maric’s sons lost in one battle. Would the Maker be so cruel?

Closer to Denerim he hears a new and even more disturbing rumor: that Loghain’s troops failed to answer the signal, leaving Cailan and the Grey Wardens with no support, and he wonders what in Andraste’s name happened there.

He finally reaches Denerim. Eamon’s house is shut up, so he gets himself a room at the Gnawed Noble Tavern. 

“Teagan?” He turns to find Leonas Bryland, the Arl of South Reach. “Thank the Maker you’re here. My condolences about Cailan. We’ve all lost a ruler, but you’ve lost a nephew as well. Is Eamon staying here as well?”

“Eamon’s ill.” Teagan explains. “He’s back at Redcliffe.”

“Nothing serious I hope.” When Teagan doesn’t answer, Leonas shakes his head. “The Maker’s turned his back on Ferelden it seems. First Bryce and his family, then Cailan, and now Eamon’s ill.”

Teagan goes still. “Bryce Cousland?”

Leonas looks at him in surprise. “You haven’t heard? Dead, all of them. The story is Bryce turned traitor, that he’d been plotting with the Orlesians to take the throne from Cailan. Rendon Howe attacked the castle and slaughtered everyone.” 

For a moment Teagan can’t breathe. “Everyone? What of Eleanor? What of her daughter?”

“No survivors, apparently. The daughter, Fergus’ wife and his boy, the servants. All dead.”

There’s a ringing in his ears. “On whose orders?” He demands. When Leonas doesn’t answer right away Teagan repeats the question. “A snake like Rendon Howe would never do something like that if he didn’t know he would get away with it. So who?”

“No one knows for sure.” The Arl insists, not understanding why this should matter so much to Teagan. He’d thought relations had been rather cool between the Guerrins and the Couslands, ever since Bryce’s name was put forward to be king after Maric disappeared. “But Loghain’s named Howe the new Teyrn of Highever and Bryce traitor. Loghain’s called for everyone to assemble at the palace. You’re Cailan’s uncle. You’d be more likely to get a straight answer than anyone.”

Teagan’s jaw clenches. Oh he’ll get an answer all right. Not even bothering to change out of his armor, he storms out the door and heads towards the palace. If Eamon were there he would be urging caution, telling Teagan not to lose his temper.

But Eamon’s not here. Nor are Bryce or Eleanor or Nell. His throat grows tight and he deliberately pushes the thought of them out of his mind, channeling his grief into anger.

Howe and Loghain won’t get away with what they’ve done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration pictures and such, can be found on my tumblr:
> 
>   [Battle Maiden photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/battle+maiden)
> 
> An excerpt from one of Eleanor's letters to Teagan can be found here  
> [a letter from Eleanor Cousland](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/post/76560124585/from-a-letter-written-by-teyrna-eleanor-cousland)


End file.
